


Spun Silk

by lizzledpink



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Discussion of Death, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-02
Updated: 2011-06-02
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:18:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lizzledpink/pseuds/lizzledpink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All the luck is on your side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spun Silk

Your name is Vriska Serket, and you are a little more than six sweeps old.

This is how you enter a room: trumpeting, smiling widely. You make sure to look your best - casual, approachable, yet the tiniest bit terrifying - yes, that's how you like it. You aim to appear friendly, yet with an edge of fear, keeping them beneath you. 

The first trick to control, you know, is that you can't slip. If there's a hint of weakness, just one, they will never fully submit. It's a lesson you learned long ago, and a lesson you employ in all that you do.

So you draw the others; they are flies to your web. They come because you are kind to them, or because you are cool. They come because you are beautiful, and some of them, few of them, come because they know what you are - and they would rather submit knowingly, their will still partially intact, than fall at your feet, helpless, crushed.

This is how you are, and have always been.

You are the best - not that you would ever explicitly say it, of course. That would be immodest.

 _  
  
_You are the best because you hide everything that isn't the best - even from yourself._   
  
_

_You are small. You are a young girl and you can't afford to think about what you are doing; all you can do is do it, and hope it works out._

 _You are so young. She needs to be fed. You tell yourself you are okay with it, because it's something you have to do. You're not okay with it. You're not okay._

 _Early on you knew about your power. One time you met a boy, and you wanted him to be your friend, so he became your friend._

 _But you've forgotten him now, because you forget everybody and everything eventually; the only way to continue is forward. You can't chance a look back and you can't remember screaming; you can't remember the times you cried or the times you hated._

 _That wasn't you._

This is you now.

Controlling everything. Everything, because that's what you're good at. Silly Karkat thinks he can do everything. He is _so_ wrong. He thinks he can fix things; he thinks, bless his shriveled and raging heart, that somehow it can all be reversed.

He doesn't get it. There are some things that just have to happen, hate it or not. You think maybe the Dave kid would understand, or Aradia, but you don't care about either of them. They're boring.

 _And maybe that's because you can't control them; maybe that's because they're some of the few people who can see through the veneer you hide behind._

 _There are some people you can almost control, and there are some people you don't properly need to control but you like to anyway. Everything is a balance of power, and the balance is something you ensure is always tipped in your favour._

 _Because, frankly, you have no other option._

 _You forgot the boy who ran away, but you remember what you did to him. You remember the hollow smile as you and he began a game. You remember the way he would smile at you and call you by your name, but you never called him by his because he never told you it._

 _On the rare occasion you think of him, you remember most clearly how it ended - the rest has been lost, suppressed over sweeps of ensuring your own strength. And you remember thinking it was a dream._

 _You lost control, he ran away._

 _But you learned you had control._

 _And only days later, you took your first victim, and you fed your lusus. You don't remember if you were shaking._

You like John, because he's dangerous.

Because everybody likes John - the same way that everybody likes you, but without the addition, the hesitation, of that same fear. And at first you think he must be playing the same game. The measure of control he holds over everybody, simply by being lovable and friendly - how can he not be aware of it? Everybody trusts him, not a single person dislikes this kid. Well - Karkat, but you have a feeling he's just covering for redrom. Foolish.

It's unfathomable. John is just that powerful. He's _godtier_  powerful. Like you.

He is worthy.

You discover that the best way to get John on your side is to tell him truths. You tell him that he is the best, because he is. You say you want to be his friend, and you do (and also his enemy, because there is no difference, but that's not the point).

You also say your name is Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, but that's only sort of a lie, really. So it's okay.

And then you proceed to help John.

You don't expect him to help you back.

 _You learned to see people differently._

 _Not a moment could be spared for the possibility of kinship or understanding. They were weak. You had to be strong._

 _You learned to kill. Sometimes you would play games with them, seeing how far you could get them to go under your own abilities, your own alluring ways. When they started to run, you stopped them cold, and let them walk to their deaths with a smile on their face._

 _Oh, you became used to a whole rainbow of blood._

 _Of course, your lusus never thanked you. But she did care for you, in a twisted way, just so long as you kept feeding her. Never let her die, never let her weaken._

 _When you were young and about to take on this responsibility, you told yourself you would need two things:_

 _You would need skill._

 _And you would need luck._

 _Perhaps a mixture of both would keep you alive, you thought._

Not that being alive has ever been your concern.

You don't see death the way the others do. They see it as a tragic ending. You? Yawn. 

There's a reason you made it to godtier, and this is it - you fell ass-8ackwards into it, as you told John. You died, because you weren't afraid to. You didn't give a damn about death, because death never kills.

Death is unimportant. Death is a way of life more than anything else. It is your right to kill; it is even your duty. And it's Not A Big Deal. People die all the time. Usually, it's your fault.

There's no being afraid of death if you've understood it all your life.

Except, of course, you've never understood death.

Life is finite. People die all the time. But it takes a particular death to make you question things. And there's only one boy with a chance of listening to you now; the young and derpy John might give you a chance, might hear your words.

It's never occurred to you, before, what it means when you die, when you stop existing - suddenly, he's no longer a concern. Him and his stupid blood and the stupid regrets you leave with him, his legs that are your fault and your pride, the loving bullshit and hatred you throw his way...

You don't know what he was to you but you realise, now, that Tavros is gone. No longer part of your life.

Did you care about him?

You think you did.

 _For some reason you tell John, and you tell John everything. You tell him what you're afraid of, you tell him the little snippets of the things you let yourself think about. You don't think you've done anything wrong. You've only done what you were lucky enough to do. But the things you have been might be wrong._

And in addition to being the best, you've always had luck. Even the best sometimes fall, but you're better than that. You have fortune on your side.

Every roll of the dice falls just the way you want it do, and if it doesn't, it never matters - you are always in control, anyway. Land on a two? Forced to flee? Flee, and call them a coward as you go. Or, land on an eight, a precious and lovely eight. That's when you strike.

The outcome always lies in your favor.

And this situation is no different - faced with the girl who is and isn't Neophyte Redglare. She wants to stop you. But doesn't she realize? She can't, and won't succeed. You know her too well. You know her game.

She has the coin flip, but you're the one with the toss.

You're the killer.

She's not.

When it comes right down to it, silly Terezi has never been able to do what's necessary to win, and you have always done everything for the sake of your own success.

There is less pleasure in winning, this time, than you expect.

But you don't let yourself think; you shove the questions to the back of mind, because you always do, because you always must, and continue on.

Never give yourself a chance to regret.

 _You remember the boy you first controlled. The boy you made your friend._

 _Sometimes you thought he wasn't real, that he was made up, because he couldn't possibly exist - his blood was bright red. Nobody had blood that red._

 _But he was real._

 _You found him, so many perigrees later, and you couldn't control him any more. You don't know if he remembers you. You don't even know if you're remembering him._

 _You remember how you lost control - one moment, you were making him smile, and the next, he was bleeding. And you snapped, staring at the colour in horror._

 _He ran from you. He hated you, he yelled and screamed and left._

You don't think about the fact that it could be Karkat, until you see it again, that bright red.

Oozing on the floor, mixing with the bright teal blood of your would-be-kismesis. 

You already knew you were going to kill Jack.

But it isn't until this moment that you realize what it means to kill, and what it means that you will end things here, whatever the cost. Maybe you're finally figuring out what death means. But this one, of the thousands you have caused before... It might just be right.

All the luck is on your side.

(((( [o] Round two.))))

**Author's Note:**

> This was written because of my intense conflicting feelings about Vriska. I think in writing this, I've become a bit more sympathetic to her character, even though from the first time I met her I loathed her... I still don't know entirely what I think about her, and I still don't know if this characterisation is any good, but it works for me. And I feel better for writing it.


End file.
